


Aviophobia

by businessboyjared



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Fear of Flying, M/M, fear of metal turnstiles, fear of the mile high club and generally unsanitary places to do the deed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9249683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/businessboyjared/pseuds/businessboyjared
Summary: Erlich and Richard head to Tulsa for the weekend. Erlich is afraid of flying, and Richard is afraid he'll never stop putting his foot in his mouth.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hackerhostel (watchmefuckthisplace)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchmefuckthisplace/gifts).



_Everyone was staring at him. He was in the classroom of 8 th grade English, at the small desk in the very back row. The plastic of the chair stuck uncomfortably to his thighs, which he realized were bare. _  
_“Mr. Hendricks!” The echo of a voice called to him from the front of the class. It was so far away – the room seemed to stretch on forever – that whoever addressed him was now just a speck on the horizon._  
_A heavy weight on his shoulder. Thick, calloused fingers wrapped around the back of his neck and rubbed into his scalp. He turned and saw a figure standing there, impossibly tall next to him. He craned his neck to get a better look, his eyes straining against the harsh fluorescent light above them that cast the person in shadow. “Richard,” It rumbled. Richard closed his eyes, enjoying the way it sounded. “Richard,” It repeated, and Richard felt the whole room sway._

“Richard!”  
  
He lurched upright, arms flailing out from under the sheets. He sat there for a moment, chest heaving and eyes wide open, trying to adjust to the dark.  
  
“Mother _fuck_ ,” He heard Erlich hiss next to him.  
  
“Sorry,” Richard groaned, flopping back down onto the mattress. “What time is it?”  
  
Erlich reached an arm across Richard, grabbing his phone from the bedside table. He clicked the screen to display the time, and Richard curled his face into Erlich’s neck to protect his eyes from the harsh blue light.   
  
“3 am,” Erlich said. He put his phone back down and let his arm drape heavy over Richard’s chest. He heard him whine. “We have a flight to catch, remember?” Erlich sat up, brushing hair out of his face so he could look down at Richard, or at what he could make out of him, through the dark. He thought for a second that he’d fallen back asleep; Richard’s eyes were closed and his breathing had finally evened out. This wasn’t the first time this week he’d been jolted awake, and seeing his sunken, tired eyes throughout the day made something in Erlich twist and ache.   
  
Richard cracked one eye open and watched Erlich scrub a hand over his face, scratch at the sleep in his eyes. The sheets were pooled around his waist, and Richard reached up one brave hand to run over the pale expanse of his back. “You look like shit.” He rasped, voice crackling and dry. He felt Erlich’s chuckle on his fingertips.   
  
“So do you,” Erlich clapped a hand on his thigh over the covers. “Now get up, or I’ll miss my chance to meet the sad fuckers who raised you.”  
  
“Don’t refer to my parents as fuckers, please,” Richard sighed, stretching his arms over his head and clicking the lamp on, just as Erlich pulled on his kimono. “And anyway, if we missed our flight, that would actually answer all of my prayers.”  
  
There was a soft knock at the bedroom door.   
  
“Erlich? Richard? I just wanted to check that you were awake,” Jared said, barely louder than a whisper, apparently trying to keep from disturbing anyone else’s sleep.  
  
“We’re up, Jared,” Erlich said, watching Richard get dressed on the other side of the room, with his back turned to him. He waited for Jared’s retreating footsteps, then said, “You’re not gonna shower?” The  _with me?_ part, he left implied.  
  
“We’re going to be in the most disgusting buildings and modes of transportation to ever exist on earth for the next nine hours. I don’t see why I should bother,” Richard huffed, turning to face him but busying himself with the button on his jeans.  
  
“Suit yourself,” Erlich shrugged, heading to the bathroom. It was too damn early for him to do anything but let Richard stew.  
  
Richard let Jared make him some coffee. Jared puttered around him while Richard played on his phone, killing time at this point. He was packed and ready to go. And when Erlich finally emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later in a cloud of annoyingly sweet-smelling steam, Richard felt his shoe tap against the linoleum in time with his rapidly increasing blood pressure. He followed Erlich into his bedroom and shut the door behind him with too much force.  
  
“Erlich,” He hissed through tightly pursed lips. “We have to leave in fifteen minutes, okay? We need to be in Jared’s car, pulling out of the driveway, in fifteen minutes. Please tell me you’re ready.”  
  
Erlich sighed. “Richard. Our flight doesn’t leave until 5:30. That’s two hours from now. Only Midwestern families on their way to Disney World get to the airport that fucking early.”  
  
“Okay, sure. Except for the fact that we’re not even  _at_  the airport yet!” He threw his hands up in frustration.   
  
Erlich gripped his shoulder, the weight of it calming Richard down in spite of himself. He took a deep breath.  
  
“Now that you’ve had your hissy fit,” Erlich said, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze before ruffling his hair, “Which one of these shirts says  _‘Hi, I’m fucking your son’_  the best?”

* * *

  
“Thanks again for driving us, Jared,” Richard said through the open window, slinging his backpack over his shoulder while Erlich heaved his suitcase out of the trunk. He tries to hide his eye roll, thinking of the many times he reminded Erlich that they would only be in Tulsa for the weekend. That bringing his entire wardrobe was far from necessary, considering Richard’s father probably owned no more than two pairs of jeans.  
  
“It’s no trouble at all! Have a safe flight,” He chirped. Erlich slapped a hand on the roof of the car to signal he could leave.  
  
As he drove away, Erlich looked down at Richard and muttered, “Who the hell is that chipper at 4am, anyway?” Richard snorted and gently knocked him with an elbow.  
  
They got through security without a hitch. Richard insisted that Erlich use the suitcase his parents bought him as a “going away to college” present for the trip, due to the fact that Erlich couldn’t say for sure whether or not his own luggage was being used to store any weed or otherwise unsavory paraphernalia that he may have forgotten about.  
  
The two of them sat at their gate, mostly empty save for an elderly couple and a few bleary-eyed families. Richard picked at his nails absentmindedly. Erlich stared blankly out the window, watching the planes taxi by and prepare for take off.   
  
Richard was just about to suggest they get some coffee when Erlich opened his mouth.  
  
“Richard, I have a confession to make.”  
  
He shot Erlich a panicked look. “What is it? Please tell me you didn’t forget our boarding passes.”  
  
“What? No. Richard, we’ve had those since before we went though security. And it’s 2016, nobody prints boarding passes anymore. God, am I dating a 60-year-old?”  
  
Richard fought the urge to splutter at “dating”. The most “dating” they’d done was getting cheeseburgers at the drive-thru after a particularly bad meeting, or smoking together out by the pool. And those were both done in the same day. Richard's ridiculously low tolerance for anything other than hard cider meant the cheeseburgers came right back up an hour later.  
  
He shook his head a little, knowing it was stupid to fight over the semantics of their relationship when they had already unlocked the Meeting Parents level.  
  
“I like having a physical copy!” He said, raising his shoulders defensively. “You were, um, confessing… something?”  
  
“I’m terrified of flying,” Erlich breathed. Richard couldn’t help but giggle.  
  
“Erlich. C’mon,” He nudged him with his shoulder. “Are you really? I mean.  _I’m_ afraid of flying, but. I’m also afraid of those metal turnstiles I once got stuck in as a kid.”  
  
Erlich squinted at him, in pity or confusion, he couldn’t tell which.  
  
“So,  _you_  can have irrational fears and I can’t?” He scoffed, raising his voice an infinitesimal amount, but it made Richard’s ears go red all the same. Everyone – the whole thirty people now gathered at their gate - was staring at them now, he just knew it. Could feel it.  
  
“Erlich, come on. I-I didn’t say it was irrational,” He said. Before thinking, he let his pride get the best of him, and continued: “And those turnstiles are not irrational either! They set up actual bars to keep it from just being a regular revolving door!”  
  
Erlich rolled his eyes. “Forget I said anything.”  
  
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Richard biting hard on the inside of his cheek. Trying to pick his words more carefully. To not be such a moron all the time.  
  
He sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry I laughed at you. I just. Sometimes I forget you’re, like, a person with… fears and stuff.”  _You fucking moron._  
  
Erlich just looked at him. “Maybe try that sentence again.”  
  
Richard tugged at his hair. “You’re just stronger than me, is all. That’s what I meant. Physically, obviously.” Erlich huffed out a laugh and Richard felt himself relax again. “But mentally, too.”  
  
Their boarding group was called forward before Erlich got a chance to respond. They gathered their things and stood in line. Erlich settled a hand on the back of Richard’s neck just briefly, letting it drag down his back and land on his hip.   
  
They found their seats, Erlich at the window and Richard to his right. Richard could tell Erlich was getting more and more on edge, fidgeting with – and practically fighting – his seatbelt, clicking it snugly across his lap before the other passengers had even finished boarding the plane. He kept looking out the window, darting his eyes around to check if they were moving yet.   
  
“Erlich, it’ll be fine. It’s only two hours to Denver, and then –“  
  
“And then we get to do it all over again, whoop-de-fucking-doo.”  
  
Richard bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything else stupid or unhelpful, so help him god. They’d get through this together.  
  
The plane finally started moving and Erlich immediately dug his fingernails into the armrest. Richard kept his hands folded in his lap. He stared out the window, feigning interest in the tarmac when really he kept sneaking glances at Erlich, who looked like he might actually make use of the barf bags. When the nose of the plane lifted, along with his stomach, Richard gripped onto the armrest as well, out of instinct. He hated this part the most, the weird limbo between flying and not falling. He heard Erlich chuckle beside him.  
  
“I’m not a child, Richard. You don’t have to hold my hand.” Erlich turned his hand so his palm was facing upward, allowing Richard to fit his own hand on top of it.  
  
“Okay.” He squeezed his hand for a fraction of a second, then watched as the plane took them higher and higher above the clouds.   


* * *

  
Richard rang the doorbell a few times. Sure, it’s his childhood home, but it didn’t feel right to barge in unannounced. Erlich leaned against his suitcase, then flinched when it started to roll out from under him. He stuck his tongue out at Richard for snickering at him.  
  
“I still can’t believe you passed up an opportunity to join the mile high club,” He sighed wistfully.   
  
“And I can’t believe you’re willing to overlook how disgusting that truly is,” Richard replied. “I will never in my life join the mile hi—hey, Mom!” He interrupted himself as his mother swung the front door open and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.  
  
“Hello! Come on in! Don’t be shy,” She waved them through the front door. “Erlich, what a lovely shirt you’ve got on!”   
  
Erlich beamed, winking at Richard when she closed the door behind them. He rolled his eyes, already looking forward to Sunday.  
  
 

 


End file.
